Dear Moon, bright moon,
How you laugh at me
And mock my selfish misery.

Turn off that spotlight –
I do not want me there;
I do not want to stare
At myself standing bare.

Bare of all sincerity,
Bare of the juice of life;
The milk that bathes a mother,
The blood that ignites a wife.

Ask of me my domestic hands
And views on educational philosophy;
Ask of me a dispassionate hug
But don’t ask me what is me.

If life was meant to have meaning,
Then wouldn’t meaning be found in a dictionary?
A briefly structured wording
That e(r)ases one’s pressing quandary?

But if words alone could ease and heal
What words I wouldn’t use?
To quiet the rumbling tide within
Every synonym to metaphor I’d abuse.

You tell me, you gorgeous moon,
How bareth you those ghastly scars?
With craters splattered across your body
You’ve clearly had your share of cosmic wars.

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